Do No Harm
by BabalooBlue
Summary: Time out. The missing piece between season 7 and 8. - "And he hoped that if he kept on walking long enough, eventually he would begin to feel ashamed." (John Biguenet; Oyster) COMPLETE
1. One

_**Thank you to maineac for betaing.**_

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><p>He had been walking ever since. Away from his car, away from her house, away from his friend, away from his home, his job, and from everything he knew. He didn't know where he was walking to; he only knew what he was walking away from.<p>

The hot and sunny weather stood in stark contrast to his mood. He couldn't remember it ever having been blacker. Or colder.

It had taken him two days to realize he had been given the Honeymoon Cabin. What brilliant irony. The flowers and romantic paintings all over the damn place should have tipped him off much earlier. Did people really want this kind of shit on their honeymoon? Everything was laid out in twos, and there was way too much pink in this place. He took down the second hammock outside. The extra wide bed was a plus, but the heart-shaped cushions had to go.

He drank, and he slept. He took Vicodin but most of the time the pills didn't help. He was still in pain and he was still alone.

The way it should be.

For the first few days, he didn't leave the hut. The only part of the outside world he let in was that rough looking cat that had shown up on day two. And technically, he had muscled his way in. He was a tabby, not all that young anymore, but maybe his looks were deceiving – about half of his left ear was missing and he moved carefully. In a human, he would have diagnosed arthritis but the damn cat wouldn't let him close enough to check anything.

The cat was hungry. He wasn't. It made sense to share what little food he did prepare for himself. No point throwing it in the garbage and letting a cat starve.

Not that the cat showed any gratitude. On the contrary, the moment he had cleaned the plate, he was gone without even looking back.

Ungrateful fleabag. Of course he couldn't prove the cat had fleas, same as he couldn't prove he had arthritis; he never stayed long enough or let him close enough to check.

Not that he cared either way.

Not that he cared about anything much.

The bottle he got on the way from the airport lasted two days.

It took him another day to find his way out of the haze.

He was tempted to make a trip up the beach to the bar to restock. He could just keep on drinking, maybe take a few too many pills one night – who was counting? What a pathetic way to check out, though, drinking yourself to death on an island in the Caribbean. He could do that at home.

Home.

Home was a place you returned to when you were done being somewhere else.

The way things stood, he wasn't sure if he still had a home. It was part of what he had walked away from. The longer he thought about it, the more he feared he had lost the right to call it home.

The water had called him to this place. The first day, before he ever entered his cabin, he had stood at the edge of the water, just breathing. The horizon was open and wide and had held his gaze until he lost track of time. Darkness fell eventually, and he turned his back on the horizon and the waves and took possession of what was to be his shelter for a while.

He didn't leave it again for days.

The first time he moved beyond the hammock on the porch was after sunset on the fourth day. It wasn't fully dark yet but the stars had come out already. Night came swiftly around here. The daylight sounds had stopped and the sudden silence drew him out. Nothing left but the constant background of the breaking waves.

It surprised him how warm the water still was. Warm and calm, it was like stepping into a bathtub. But the further out he waded, finally dipping in to move away from the beach with a few careful strokes, the cooler the water became.

He turned over on his back and let the water carry him for a while. By then it had become so dark, there was no difference anymore between the sea and the sky – he tried to find the line that separated both but couldn't see it. It was all one big dark pod that he floated in. The stars above him were far and yet he felt tempted to reach out and touch them. He knew they would be ice cold, colder than he could stand.

Out here the world was black and cool, and he finally felt a calmness arrive. He knew the cold water would eventually make the muscles in his leg cramp but he didn't care. For once he didn't feel like fighting anything. He just closed his eyes and became one with the darkness, the water around him and the stars above.

Everything was calm except for the eternal pull of the water around him.

He had lost all feeling of time and space when suddenly the surrounding darkness began to change. There was nothing supernatural about it; it had to be down to the change in body temperature. At some point, his temperature must have dropped below some specific point fixed in his memory because suddenly he was younger and in another, much smaller and much colder tub. Much, much colder.

His heart and his breathing sped up when the cold should have slowed them down.

The previously comforting darkness turned into a threat and began to close in around him.

Hoping that his thigh wouldn't seize up, he made his way towards the tiny lights on shore. Despite the physical exertion, once he felt his toes touch the sand, his breath slowed down almost immediately, and he felt the constriction in his chest beginning to ease.

He slowly picked his way back up the beach, only to collapse in the hammock, dripping wet as he was. Back on shore, it was still warm enough for him not to shiver, despite the wet clothes. Too exhausted to move, he finally fell asleep right there.


	2. Two

The following morning saw the return of the cat at his usual time. Seeing that no breakfast awaited him, he swished his tail and disappeared to try his luck elsewhere.

Even the cat seemed to disapprove of him.

He had been left and rejected before, usually for not being good enough or not measuring up to expectations. But this time he hadn't just disappointed someone. He had damaged property and, knowingly, hurt someone. The wreckage he had left behind included the only friendship that had survived everything until now.

He had been hurt and lied to before. All that had resulted in was bitterness and distrust. Not anger like he had felt that afternoon, as deep and black as a tar pit. And finally a pile of rubble, a scared woman and what looked like a broken arm.

And he had no explanation.

He knew anger well, it was like an old comrade, going back nearly twelve years now, but he rarely directed it towards anything other than himself or inanimate objects close by. This time, it all came out too fast and too hot – too violent - to keep a lid on it. And he had no idea what had been so different this time that he hadn't been able to control it.

There was only one answer that wasn't a lie – he didn't know. And that was worse than any of the other possibilities. Not knowing was worse than any answer.

What if one didn't measure up to one's own expectations? You couldn't very well leave yourself.

Once, a long time ago, he had sworn an oath to prevent disease and harm. There had been a lot of other things covered in that oath, mostly concerning human nature, humbleness and do-goodery. He had never subscribed to those parts but preventing disease and harm had become the focus of his life.

That oath had also mentioned not being afraid to say 'I know not'. He had not known. For months he had struggled. But instead of following the oath, he had taken a sledgehammer to the problem and destroyed it. Destroyed the problem and created a lot of collateral damage.

He had lost what had been at the core of his being, and it had been replaced by something flawed, foul and reeking of misery and pain. Something so dark it sucked all the light into itself.

This place was an in-between state. He knew he couldn't stay here forever. Furlough, John House would have called it. The time in between assignments. If you were clever you used it to prepare yourself for the next assignment.

It was much too bright and cheerful here. When he had chosen his destination, he had looked for the next available flight to anywhere not cold. Cold and wet he wouldn't have been able to take, or so he thought. He needed something to drown out whatever dark was obviously lurking inside of him. Little did he know that the constant sunshine was a lot worse than dark and dreary would have ever been. The dark inside of him was offended by the light and warmth of this place. It screamed for company.

As far as John House was concerned, there had been nothing in his son to be proud of. But even he would be disgusted if he could see him now. Motives don't matter, actions matter. Whatever the error, you had to be ready to live with the consequences. You paid the price for every mistake you made. John House had excelled at teaching those lessons. Pay your debt, take your punishment and move on.

But sometimes, sometimes someone else paid.

He had acted against nearly everything covered in the oath, but it still reminded him that he was a member of society, a member with special obligations to his fellow human beings. There were rules in society you subjected yourself to. Most people subscribed to them, oath or no oath. There were things people should not get away with.

There were things he could not let himself get away with.

His silent companion, the cat, seemed to agree. He had developed into a watchful presence, a shadow. He would open his eyes and there he was, just a few feet away, looking at him, as if to see why he hadn't left yet. Maybe the cat wasn't the intruder here; maybe it was the other way around.

He still wouldn't come anywhere near enough to get checked out, though.

Trust needs to be earned. Another one of John House's truths.

Considering how spectacularly he had failed at everything he had sworn to uphold, it wasn't surprising that the cat decided to keep his distance, wanted him out for all he knew.

The way back would be difficult, presuming he could find it.

There was no doubt in his mind what he was returning to.

It was time to go home and do the right thing.

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><p><em>- The oath referred to is the modern version of the Hippocratic Oath by Dr Louis Lasagna. -<em>


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